Monday, February 27

I have no idea what it is.
Maybe I'm trying too hard to find good

Maybe that's just me, trying to look at the brighter side of things,
minor accidents,

I don't know what it is, exactly.
But something's wrong
doesn't fit right.

Am I trying too hard to find happiness?
I'm scared.

And very very tired.

Time out.


Chaucer Arafat said...


i randomly stumbled into your blog and read your most recent entry. I have to say that I know how you feel...

i think they call it the 'paradox of hedonism,' and it states (rather baldly) that when you stop searching for happiness, then it seeks you out.

but once again..i can empathize. keep it up.



AlterinG Abhishek said...

Well I feel there is another simpler way you know!
We usually set very high standards of our hapiness.
We have a long list of things that would make us unhappy, but a very small list of things that make a happy.
All we need to do is increase the length of out happy list.
Or as they alternately say.. learn to find happiness in the small things in life!!


GhostOfTomJoad said...

Can't claim to know what you are feeling, so I can only comment on it from my own peespective. I think, a lot of it has to do with feeling good about yourself. There're days when everything falls into place and seems under control. On other days, when you're not feelig so kicked about yourself, things somehow don't feel right. You know there's a piece missing but just can't put your finger on it and say what is wrong.

I'm not sure about this 'paradox of hedonism' theory, although it sounds more like an empty claim to me. The day I see a pig fly, I'll start believing that happiness seeks you out. But, then again, what do I know!

Nessa said...

Oh Gosh, Fingers, don't frighten us like this! Bring out the beads :)

Small Routines said...

Caboose Thoughts

It's going to come out all right-do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass-they know.
They get along-and we'll get along.

Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting
And the letter you wait for won't come,
And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray
And the letter I wait for won't come.

There will be ac-ci-dents.
I know ac-ci-dents are coming.
Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten,
Red and yellow ac-ci-dents.
But somehow and somewhere the end of the run
The train gets put together again
And the caboose and the green tail lights
Fade down the right of way like a new white hope.

........It's going to come out all right-do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass-they know.
They get along-and we'll get along.

Cornhuskers. 1918.
Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

Chin up!

Small Routines said...

Sending you my Duck story! I posted this long ago, might tickle you!

(That was a warning)

Mr.Watter and his family lived with their best friend whose name was Duck. Duck's name was Duck because he was a duck. Duck lived in a small wooden house on stilts which Mr.Watter built for him near the porch.

Whoever made the word "weird" did so after meeting Duck. Every morning when one of the Watters opened the front door to collect the newspaper, Duck would be waiting on the small ledge under the porch roof with bated breath. Just as the person bent to pick up the newspaper, Duck would jump on his back cackling loudly in wicked glee. You could duck other ducks, but not Duck. He was as good as a heat-sensitive missile.

This drove Watter mad, but he didn't beat the life out of Duck or have him for dinner - he knew that in life, having to put up with some weirdness was a small price to pay for having loving, faithful, and forgiving friends.

So he came up with this solution. Whoever came to pick up the paper would wear a trekking jacket. So when Duck landed on him/her like God's wrath, he would not get a grip and would slip off and land on the ground with a surprised cackle, and waddle away shaking his bottom furiously.

Now, Duck, either due to genetic unfairness in the department of Logical Deduction from Predictable Patterns, or having read just the first few chapters of too many philosophy books and therefore treating each new day as a Fresh Blank Slate unsullied by the experience of yesterday, went on jumping off the ledge on Watters' backs and falling off each time.

This went on so long that in the neighbourhood, when anyone wanted to say that something didn't affect him at all, he would say " It fell off me like Duck off a Watters' back!!"

End of Story. Quack!

Ghastly, isn't it? I made that up on the bike this morning on the way to office. A high-protein breakfast sometimes does this to you. Not to mention the coconut chutney.

P.S: "Duck!" is dedicated to all my friends who keep asking me to write. You asked for it, hee heeeeeee!

Heretic said...

Absolutely no one can claim freedom from angst. No one!

So let life happen and enjoy the ride. You're far too good at what you do to let little speedbreakers get in the way!

There is the little thing within called peace, that you wish unto even wayfarers. :-) Peace to you too, fingers. Now get back to sketching. right now!

Thomas said...

Hi Fingers! Weird "name",you use fingers to draw and write ...maybe is not so weird...boh !!! I' m not a genius about reading(or writing) english, but i'm thinking your blog is very intense, so i' ll be back soon. Bye, and thanks for your comment